It's 2:42am and I am sad because I didn't get a text from New Man yesterday. Just in case you needed clarity yes, I'm 41-years-old, sittin' up in my room like Brandy sad over a guy. I ate my dinner leftovers that I was trying to save for breakfast, and the cherry on top is that my knee hurts, making every position I take in my bed uncomfortable. As I lay her typing this, all I can think about is how disappointing all of this is, and how I find myself constantly dealing with a lurking, shadowy sense of disappointment. I'm disappointed in everything and everybody. I called Boots to sing her a Toni Braxton song reflective of my mood. She didn't answer. I'm disappointed in myself for not being able to take life on the chin. Sigh. Time to try to sleep.
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